


Draco Malfoy and... DAMMIT, POTTER, I WANTED TO BE FRIENDS

by love_from_belle



Series: The Draco Malfoy Books [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco pov, Gen, Harry Potter Rewrite, I searched and searched and searched for this but nothing came up, That's it, and trying to be friends with Harry, because Draco's 11 for goodness sakes, because that's all he wants, but from Draco's perspective, but seen through Draco's eyes, doing kid things, he's just a kid, he's not about to get a girlfriend or a boyfriend right this second, it's basically the first book, just to be friends with Harry, obviously there are no other ships than Draco's parents in this installment, so I decided to do it myself, that's the story, what have i gotten myself into
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-03-04 03:38:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13355703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_from_belle/pseuds/love_from_belle
Summary: A Draco Malfoy centric rewriting of the Harry Potter books. This is the first book. And the first time I've posted any of my fanfics anywhere on the net. Because I don't normally do this. But I'm feeling courageous. Like a Gryffindor. But I'm a Ravenclaw. Oops.Also known (to me) as 'What On Earth Are You Doing, Belle, You Are Wrecking Your Favourite Book Series'. Basically: read at your own peril.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and the plot and literally everything including my soul is owned by J K Rowling. And the idea is owned by whoever the hell thought it up. Which sure as hell wasnt me. I'm just doing my own thing here.

Mr and Mrs Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, were proud to say that they were perfectly pure-blooded, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything related to muggles, because they just didn’t hold with such inferior nonsense.

Mr Malfoy was a descendent of a notoriously prejudiced family who were listed in the Sacred Twenty-Eight directory of pure blooded families. He was a thin, pale man with a pointed face and grey eyes, and long, blonde hair. Mrs Malfoy was also thin and blonde, but with blue eyes, and a clear, cold voice, which came in very useful when screeching at her older sister, Bellatrix. The Malfoys had a small son called Draco, and in Mrs Malfoy’s opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Malfoys had almost everything they wanted. Money, renown, no muggles living anywhere near them. But, they had a deep, dark secret. They didn’t think they could bear it if anyone else found out about the Tonks’. Mrs Tonks was Mrs Malfoy’s sister, but they hadn’t met for several years; in fact, Mrs Malfoy pretended she only had one sister, because Andromeda and her good-for-nothing husband were as unMalfoyish as it was possible to be. The Malfoys shuddered to think what their acquaintances would say if the Tonks’ arrived at Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys knew that the Tonks’ had a small child too, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Tonks’ away; they didn’t want Draco mixing with a child like that.

When Mr and Mrs Malfoy woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday when our story starts, there was nothing about the dull sky outside to suggest that terrifying and unforeseeable things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Malfoy hummed as he picked out his blackest of black robes for his meeting, and Mrs Malfoy whistled away happily as she plucked a giggling Draco out of his cot and kissed him on the head before handing him over to the house elf.

Neither of them noticed the distinct lack of people materializing by the gates.

At half past eight, Mr. Malfoy pecked Mrs Malfoy on the cheek and headed downstairs to check in on Draco, who was currently scoffing down his eggs and bacon, and then he walked to his office to have his breakfast. 

It was when he was looking out of the window across his estate that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – his peacocks were strutting everywhere. For a second, Mr Malfoy thought that the birds had gone mad – they never strutted out in the open when his acquaintances were around. He blinked and looked again, but they were still strutting around, showing off their beautiful tail feathers. What could they have been thinking? It must have been mating season. Mr Malfoy blinked and stared at the peacocks. One stared back. As Mr Malfoy left his office, he glanced back at the peacocks. They were still strutting around. Mr Malfoy straightened out his robes and put the peacocks out of his mind. As he walked down to the main hall he thought of nothing except the meeting that would provide good news about the deaths of the Potters.

But as he entered the meeting room, his mind emptied. It became as empty as the room in front of him. Mr Malfoy couldn’t understand the sight of the empty room, so he swept down into the kitchens where the house elves worked and demanded to know why his meeting hall was empty. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the snake head of his cane as the house elves stuttered about no one being at the gates to be let in. The nerve of those people! But then it struck Mr Malfoy that it was, in fact, half past nine, and the meeting was scheduled for half past three. Yes, that would be it. He swept out of the kitchens and back to his office, where he wrote a letter to his contacts in the Ministry, his mind back on the meeting.

Mr Malfoy had standing orders to be left alone whenever he was in his office. If he hadn’t, he might have found it harder to concentrate on his reading. He did not hear the rumours that were spreading around the house elves like wildfire, though Narcissa did; she rushed around the house hiding everything she could find relating to the Dark Lord and his business in the Manor. She thought that it would be best to be prepared, even if the rumours turned out to be false. Mr Malfoy, however, had a perfectly normal, rumour-free morning. He tried out five new Dark spells on the muggles he kept imprisoned in the dungeons below the manor. He wrote several important entries on those spells and tried out a few more new spells. He was in a very good mood until lunch-time, when he thought he’d eat in the sunroom with his wife and son, and walked head-first into a group of Ministry officials in the entrance hall.

They pounced on him immediately and produced a search warrant and demanded to search the entirety of the house for any signs that He Who Must Not Be Named had lingered there for any amount of time. Mr Malfoy didn’t know why this had suddenly happened, and it made him uneasy. Of course, he didn’t wish to be arrested for obstruction of justice, so he put on his most polite tone and said that he did not wish to be in the way. As the Ministry officials headed their separate ways, Mr Malfoy tried not to seem in too much of a rush as he headed up to his office to burn all evidence of Dark spells. On his way back to his office, he happened to pass a pair of house elves whispering, and he used a simple spell to catch a few words of what they were saying.

‘The Dark Lord, that’s right, Harry Potter –’

‘He is gone? The Dark Lord is gone?’

Mr Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the house elves, ready to demand answers, but his urgency demanded that he keep going.

He dashed up three flights of stairs, down two corridors, burst through the door of his office and straight into the waiting arms of two Aurors, who arrested him on sight. He decided that fighting two Aurors who had five other Ministry officials as backup was not the wisest idea, and so he told his wife to relax, and that he would be back soon, and to take care of Draco while he was away. And the Ministry officials took him to Azkaban to await trial for suspicion of being a Death Eater. 

Time passed slowly. His trial was set for a week after he arrived at Azkaban, and Mr Malfoy felt that the week could not pass slower if it tried. He was sure that the Mark on his arm would prove him guilty. However, he had heard rumours from the guards that some of his acquaintances were decreed not guilty by claiming that their actions were influenced by the Imperius curse, a curse that he had studied and performed on many occasions. Luckily, he was clever enough that the wand that he had had on him when he was arrested was not the wand he had used as a Death Eater. It was the wand he used mainly for lighting candles when the house elves were preparing dinner.

The week passed, all gruel and fear, until he was put in chains and led out of his cell, taken to the Ministry, put into another cell and raised through the floor into the courtroom. The entire Council of Magical Law was in attendance, all bar his acquaintances, of course. He had expected nothing less for a trial of such importance. A gavel banged on the desk, and Barty Crouch Snr spoke up, calling the court to order.

‘Trial of the seventh of November, into suspicion of offences committed under the Statute of Secrecy, and identity of accused as a Death Eater. Accused is one Lucius Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. Interrogator: Bartemius Crouch Snr, Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement...’

……

Meanwhile, in Malfoy Manor, Mrs Malfoy could not stop pacing. After several sleepless nights, both due to Draco’s screaming and her nightmares, there was only one thing she could do. She gave the elves new instructions, to clean the manor, remove the blood stains and carved out intestines of the dead muggles from the dungeons, but leave her room, Draco’s room and the kitchens alone. 

She set herself to work cooking for herself and her son, cleaned the nursery and her room out five times, and tried to take her mind off the fact that her husband was currently standing trial. A trial which, if it went the wrong way, could land him in Azkaban for the rest of his life, and leave her a single mother, and her beloved son without a father. 

So, she cooked and she cleaned, and she cleaned and she cooked, and she hoped that her husband would come home later that day, a man proven innocent in the eyes of the law, if not in the eyes of reality.


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly ten years had passed since Mr Malfoy’s trial, but Malfoy Manor had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the peacocks strutting through the gardens; it tried, and failed as usual, to creep into the Manor’s cold halls, which were almost exactly the same as they had been on the night when Mr Malfoy had been arrested. Only a smattering of photographs in the inhabited quarters showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been barely any photographs out in the open. True, there were still barely any photographs out in the open, but the new photos were of a little boy zooming around the gardens on a toy broomstick, a larger boy zooming around the garden on an adult broomstick, and an even larger boy intently watching his father’s greasy-haired friend brewing potions in the potions lab that was arranged just for him. 

Draco Malfoy’s childhood had been exactly what one would have thought a Malfoy’s childhood would be like, full of magic, and, of course, a lot of anti-muggle rhetoric. His father began visiting the Ministry and ingratiating himself with the Minister for Magic, a rather portly little man by the name of Cornelius Fudge, who seemed to always be in need of advice.

On the tenth of June, 1991, a blonde head lifted from a pillow in a silent wing of Malfoy Manor, and checked the time on the grandfather clock. Seven o’clock in the morning. The boy leapt out of bed, put on his black silk dressing gown, and ran down to the kitchen, where he proceeded to yell at the house elves, just like he did every morning. When the clocks chimed eight, the boy was back in his bedroom having eaten a full English breakfast, and he was getting ready for his day.

Mr and Mrs Malfoy woke slowly, as usual, basking in each other’s presence. They got ready for the day, and were eating their breakfast in the sunroom when their son barrelled in waving an envelope.

‘Mother, Father, look!’ The boy yelled. ‘Hogwarts sent me a letter!’

‘Jolly good, Draco.’ His father replied. ‘We knew you would make it in. After all, you have been showing persistent signs of magic since you were born. However, we are still not sure that we will accept the place. After all, that old fool Dumbledore is still Headmaster, and even with myself on the Board of Governors, the school is a mess. Durmstrang has a much more practical approach to many important matters; it does not accept Mudbloods, and believes that Dark magic must be taught and practiced just as normal magic is.’

‘I would miss you terribly if you went to Durmstrang, though, Draco,’ his mother said, ‘which is why we have not accepted your place there either. Even though I am sure your father could easily gain an inter-continental Floo pass, even Flooing comes with certain dangers when using the Network to travel such long distances. We still have enough time to make our decision, though. Hogwarts must receive our owl on the thirty-first of July if we wish for you to go there, and Durmstrang is no different.’

‘Well, Mother, I shall leave the decision up to you and Father, then.’ Draco said, and then he got distracted by the perfectly wrapped presents on the floor.

By the time he had unwrapped all his presents, Draco had counted every book off both the Hogwarts and Durmstrang lists, and had received five new sets of mufti robes for the school year.

That afternoon, the family journeyed to Diagon Alley, where they bought Draco’s first wand (ten inches of “reasonably springy” hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core); a monumental occasion for a young wizard, celebrated with lots of pride but very little fussing from Mr Malfoy, lots of pride and fussing from Mrs Malfoy, and a specially prepared feast from the house elves of Malfoy Manor. 

A month passed as slowly as possible, it seemed. The sun rose and fell, the peacocks strutted and the house elves were yelled at consistently each morning and evening. Mr Malfoy continued visiting the Ministry, and Mrs Malfoy began to fuss over her son more and more each day as the time for his schooling crept closer and closer. Once, Draco tried casting some simple spells with his shiny new wand, but was found out by the Ministry who were instantly bribed into silence by Mr Malfoy without any record of this transgression, which never happened again.

By the time the thirty-first of July rolled around, the decision to send Draco to Hogwarts had been made and the owl had been sent; rather reluctantly on Mr Malfoy’s part, however he could not bear his wife’s excessive fussing over Draco, which he had felt would be easier to cope with if they were able to see him during each holiday.

Thus, on the first of August, the Malfoy family travelled, once again, to Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Hell In A Handbasket... it's been months. 
> 
> Real life pulled some shit there. Ah well. I'm back. Hopefully for a good while.
> 
> Also writing some stuff for other fandoms too, so y'all might wanna keep an eye out for that? If you want to.
> 
> As per usual, this hasn't been beta-read... but I think it should be okay... if there are any mistakes, lemme know?
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!
> 
> New note as of 22/05/2018: my muse has run away. if anyone wants to help me write this fic, please drop me a line on tumblr @love_from_belle. and we shall talk.


	3. Chapter Three

With a whoosh, the Malfoys elegantly stepped out of Diagon Alley Floo Fireplace Number Three and onto the old twisting street.

Dusting the soot from their robes, which showed class without appearing too over the top, they began walking down the street with purpose, heads held high.

"First stop, Ollivanders," Lucius said. "We don't want to be going later, when it will be full of riff-raff and filth."

Upon entering the run-down, narrow shop, Lucius rapped his cane on the desk harshly.

"Never waits in the open. Always has to make a dramatic entrance," he muttered, as Ollivander came swinging into view on a large stepladder.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," the old man said. "Elm and dragon heartstring, wasn't it? Still working well for you?"

"Yes, yes," Lucius replied distractedly. "Now if we could-"

"We'll get there," Ollivander interrupted. "And Mrs. Malfoy, an unusual wand, if I remember rightly. Cedar and ebony with a dragon heartstring core, was it not? And it is still in working condition and performing well?"

"It still works brilliantly," Narcissa said politely. "We are not here to discuss our wands, however. We are here for Draco to find his."

"Of course!!!" Ollivander said merrily. "Let's start with one I always use to gain an insight into where to head next. Acacia, eleven and a half inches, with a dragon heartstring core. Never been matched, this one. Rather picky. But give it a try!"

Draco lifted the wand, aimed it at a glass jar on the wall, and waved it with intent. The jar shattered into little more than dust.

"Nope! Nope!" Ollivander cried, confiscating the wand from Draco's hand before he moved it again. Muttering to himself, he disappeared into the stacks of wand boxes. "Definitely not acacia, and probably not dragon heartstring either, but why not..."

A moment or two later, Ollivander appeared from the stacks with another wand box.

"Ash, ten and three quarter inches, dragon heartstring," he told Draco. "Give it a whirl."

Again, Draco aimed the wand at another jar, which subsequently shrunk to the size of a doll's house replica.

"Not that one, then!" Ollivander stated firmly, whipping the wand away from Draco and vanishing into the stacks once again, talking to himself. "Not ash, not dragon heartstring..."

"A bit of an experiment, this one was. Vine, unicorn hair core, ten and a third inches," Ollivander told Draco. "I made it after making some rather inadvisable decisions myself, but it appeared to work out..."

Another jar was aimed at, and it grew and grew until Lucius, who had had enough, blasted it to smithereens.

Ollivander took that wand away from Draco as well, looking at it interestedly while heading into the stacks again. "An unusual reaction, that. It seems we got one thing right... and one thing terribly wrong. Let us see which one, shall we?"

He reappeared not a moment later with another wand. "Also vine, but with a phoenix feather core. Ten and a quarter inches."

The targeted vase blew up.

"Unicorn hair core, then." Ollivander mused, leaving for the stacks for what would be the last time. "I think I have an idea..."

Rustling and cursing was heard for several minutes before Ollivander finally found what he was looking for.

"A-ha! Hawthorn, ten inches, unicorn hair core, reasonably pliant," Ollivander yelled from the back of the shop, rushing to his desk and setting it down. " Only recently made. Another experiment. Try it out, if you please!" 

Draco cringed before waving the latest wand at another vase, which subsequently sprouted a bunch of white peacock feathers from its depths, and silver sparks came from the wand.

"Very interesting indeed," Ollivander told the family. "I don't usually consider placing Hawthorn wands in the hands of an inexperienced wizard just beginning his journey, as they are notoriously difficult to master. But I do believe that great things will come from this wand, as they have from many hawthorn wands throughout our history. That will be 7 galleons, please."

After the Malfoys had paid for Draco's wand and left the shop, Ollivander blinked a couple of times and vanished into the stacks once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my muse finally reappeared. Where she was, I have no idea. But here's the next chapter.
> 
> I was meaning to make Diagon Alley just the one chapter like it was in the books but the ending just fit so perfectly so now it's two chapters.
> 
> Flames are not appreciated. I got some flames on another of my works and I am attributing my muse's disappearance to them.
> 
> Also, if someone could go and pet/feed/walk the dog that lives across the road from me so that it would stop howling full time, that'd be great.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this past midnight... this is where my brain goes when I'm bloody exhausted, y'all!
> 
> I'm also procrastinating on an assignment, so...
> 
> Um... tell me what you think? Maybe? Or at least leave kudos if it's kinda OK?
> 
> And if J K Rowling ever reads this, I apologise profusely for what I'm doing and how I badly am going to muck up her precious books.


End file.
